


I'm Not Down To Share You

by Meddalarksen



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen
Summary: Len still has no idea how he ended up sleeping with someone stupid enough to research a blood-drinking cult, but he'll take it for however long it lasts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Kelly Clarkson's "Don't Let Me Stop You."
> 
> This was supposed to be like...the first half of the first scene which came from a conversation with Victoriousscarf and this is what arose from there.

Len was fairly sure that if there was a god he didn't have time to pay attention to individual people. But Len was equally sure that there was something, possibly an angel or a spirit or something, that hated him and enjoyed making his life a particular sort of misery. That was the only explanation he had for why Rip was _still talking_. Something about further research found for his thesis. It also explained how Len ended up sleeping with someone who was going to die brutally in the next five or ten years (Lisa and Mick were kind enough to be taking bets on when that would be. Sara was betting three). Seriously, though. Rip was going to end up sacrificed on an altar if he kept researching a secret cult for his thesis. It wasn't something someone should research at the master’s level. Or the doctoral level. In fact Len was fairly sure it was something someone should never research.

He hummed at whatever Rip was saying. Something about Gideon having finally helped him obtain more evidence about the gareeb. Len felt satisfied when it made Rip’s breath hitch but that was squashed again when Rip _kept talking_. Len got it. This mattered to Rip but for fucks sake.

And now Rip had mentioned his advisor. Druce could go to hell. Maybe Len could give Mick something to burn. Like Druce's trash can by his house. Okay this couldn't go on or Len was going to lose all interest in the proceedings.

Len pulled back and offered Rip a long look as Rip _finally_ stopped talking. "There are three things I should be hearing from your mouth right now. One dirty talk. Two moaning. Or three not a single fucking sound. For fucks sake, Hunter. A gorgeous guy who gives great head is sucking you off and your response is to talk about ritual murder."

"Gorgeous and modest," Rip said drily.

“Don’t need to be modest when it’s true. Not that you’d know because you’re not _paying attention_ ,” Len sniped.

“I am paying attention,” Rip said, looking as affronted as he could with the flush in his cheeks and down his chest, his shirt undone and his pants missing. Len was fairly sure they were somewhere across the room.

“You were talking about _Druce_ ,” Len said.

“ _Professor_ Druce.”

Len stared at Rip for a beat, “He could be ‘the most holy’ Druce and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck right now.” He pushed back, starting to get off of Rip’s bed and zipping up his jeans.

Rip sat up fully at that, reaching out before he stopped himself, “Where are you going?”

“Home. I’ve got better things to do with my time than play third wheel to your _thesis_ ,” Len said, looking around and frowning when he could only see his left shoe from where he stood.

Rip rolled off the bed, following Len and grabbing his own boxers from where they’d been dropped, yanking them on, “Leonard, Len, wait. Slow down. I’m here, I’m present.”

Len just offered him a look, finally finding his shoe on the other side of Rip’s desk, “It’s fine. We’ll just do this later.”

“Later?” Rip asked, pulling his pants on, watching Len struggle with his shoes. “When?”

Len shrugged, not quite looking at Rip but still catching the way his shoulders dropped minutely. He was fucking this up, not that it was a surprise. Lisa had clocked Carter in the face for suggesting that this would last less than six months, but Len still wasn’t sure whether that was because Carter was making a bet and Lisa disagreed or because everyone agreed and no one except Carter was willing to say it.

“Lunch tomorrow?” Rip asked after the silence stretched too long.

“I have to work,” Len said, finally managing to get both his shoes on and looking around for his coat, only to find Rip holding it out to him and watching him steadily. Len took the coat after another beat, “Dinner and after?”

“I have class,” Rip said flatly. “And a dinner by the department the next night.” He looked like he was going to tack something else on, probably an invitation to come along. His face twisted for a moment.

“Don’t bother,” Len drawled and pulled his coat on. Before Rip could say anything else, maybe something about how he did mean the invitation he still hadn’t managed to speak, Len was out the door, closing it behind him quietly but firmly.

o-o-o

Len bent over the pieces of his final project. They were spread out on his coffee table, and floor, and counter, in that order of importance. It wasn’t as though he had any other plans for that Friday night. Lisa had asked and he’d turned her down, made an excuse about having something going on, the same generic excuse he’d given Sara. And Mick. He was sure none of them bought it, but he wasn’t in the mood. He probably should have taken them all up on it.

He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the circuitry in front of him and he swore, yanking out his headphones and looking for his phone. Maybe it wasn’t too late to see if Sara or Mick wanted to go hit the bar that most of the college students _didn’t_ frequent. He’d be damned before he went drinking with his little sister. Especially on a night he’d prefer to be with….well didn’t matter. Rip was busy and he could probably divert Sara or Mick enough for them to not grill him about it. Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck was he kidding?

Just as he finally managed to find his phone under a pile of discarded wires, someone knocked on his apartment door. Len frowned, checking his phone but there weren’t any missed calls or texts to warn him someone was coming and the knock didn’t sound like Mick. He pocketed the phone and carefully got to his feet, moving quietly across the studio. Right hand curling around the baseball bat he kept next to the door, he opened the door very slightly and immediately let go of the weapon. He pulled the door open and crossed his arms loosely, leaning against the frame. “Thought you were busy tonight.”

“Nothing I couldn’t miss,” Rip answered, standing there with two pizza boxes in his hands and a box of what were probably garlic twists balanced on top along with a two-liter of soda.

“Sounded otherwise a couple days ago,” Len said, staring Rip down and not ready to let him into his apartment.

“I fear I’ve been….rather an ass,” Rip said.

Len looked at the pizza boxes again, recognizing the place east of campus that he really liked. He glanced up and met Rip’s gaze, smirking, “Well, what else is new. One of those had better be spinach and artichoke.”

“I wouldn’t dream of arriving with a less than suitable offering,” Rip said as Len finally stepped back.

Len could practically feel the way Rip stilled at the disaster that was the living space, separated from his bed by a screen. His shoulders itched at the judgement he was sure was coming, but he wasn’t going to apologize for his own project. Not after their last conversation. “Set the boxes on the counter, or the couch, whichever.”

Rip hummed, carefully stepping around the wires and not touching anything on the coffee table as he set the boxes on the middle of the couch and picked the soda up from on top, “Cups?”

Len shrugged and grabbed them, still watching Rip, “Why’re you here?”

Rip poured the drinks and carefully moved things back on the coffee table just enough so he could set the bottle and the box of garlic twists down on it, “Because I realized that I’ve fucked it.”

Len just sat down at the far end of the couch from Rip, waiting for him to finish whatever he thought he had to say.

“And I have god awful timing. I did want to tell you what I told you the other night, but I could have… _should_ have waited. I wanted to tell you because I want you to know what’s going on in my life because I want you to be there. But in the process I wasn’t there with you,” Rip said.

Len kept his face carefully blank. That could either be genuine or a genuine attempt to get back in his pants, “Still doesn’t explain why you cut out on dinner.” Rip had told him more than once that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t skip those because of the chances it gave him to interact with people in the department or some shit.

Rip opened one of the pizza boxes, pausing before he spoke again, “To apologize. I’ve been to plenty of those, and you were right. You shouldn’t have to play third wheel.”

Len eyed him, “What do you want, Rip?”

“Just to have dinner. To talk? I’ve done a lot of the talking lately, not enough asking,” Rip said.

“No,” Len said, picking up a piece of the spinach and artichoke pizza. “Dinner’s fine. But I don’t feel like talking. You can.”

Rip opened the other box, taking a slice of the Hawaiian. Len considered it magnanimous of him to not once again express the fact that pineapple on pizza was sacrilege. Rip turned so he was leaning against the arm of the couch and curled one leg up on the couch itself, “Are you sure?”

Len shrugged, “You said you’d found more about that cult’s demon, hadn’t you?”

“The gareeb, yes. I haven’t had the chance to actually look at the sources, but there was some more information there, and hopefully how the legend of the gareeb came into being and the relation to Hath-Set and the establishment of the followers,” Rip said, pausing to take a bite before he continued.

Len settled back against the couch, listening, letting Rip talk. He was still fairly sure someone was going to be paying Carter money in a few months, but for now? He’d take it.


End file.
